Their Royal Lowness

She barged inside the shop like she owned it, and muttered an insincere "excuse me, please." Her tone made it an order more than a request. Max shuffled to one side as the Madam took up all the room, pulling maps from shelves and shaking charts about, flicking pages, snapping orders to her sick-kick who had caught up to her barking voice. Max recognised her face, and knew to stay just out of reach. He could smell the trouble lingering on her skin. She snapped and snarled instructions at the wiry man, scolding him like a child. 

Max cast a sideways glance at her. She looked nasty-mean, a face pinched hard into a scowl, and hair that looked as though she never washed.

"Just shut up," she snapped as the wiry weedy man with the rotting teeth began to speak. He cowered back into his shell, awaiting further insults or instructions. She folded up the map, and shoved it back up on the shelf. She clearly wasn't buying; not when she could get her information here for free. 

"Let's get out of here," she snarled, turning slowly, casting Max a savage look. The wiry thing ran after her, catching up to her out on the sidewalk.

The sudden howling screech of brakes pulled Max's eyes toward the street. The howl was followed by a sickening sound; two thuds and then some screaming. Max stared at where the Madam and the wiry man had stood. Now they both lay motionless upon the path, the driver of the car leaning forward over them, screaming, yelling, "Someone help," 

The two lay still, without a movement. No rising chests, no flickering eyes,  their life blood slowly trickling off the path and down the drain.